


Somewhere in Japan, I'm Feeling Raindrops on My Face

by Hopestill



Series: A Character Study in Red [4]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Blood, Graphic Description, Horror, Nightmares, Other, Whump, i swear i love mishi don't get me wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopestill/pseuds/Hopestill
Summary: Mishima thinks a little about his Christmas plans - or lack thereof - and reality promptly goes to shit.





	Somewhere in Japan, I'm Feeling Raindrops on My Face

**Author's Note:**

> I almost have beaten Persona 5 and there's a 10 second part in one of the final cutscenes where Mishima reacts to everything happening outside his train, so naturally I had to extend that into a whump fanfic.
> 
> R-right?  
> ...
> 
> Hi hello I swear to you all I want the best for Mishima I love him to bits and pieces.

Christmas Eve was generally uneventful for Mishima. It was usually the last day of school before winter vacation, so he would spend his morning studying in a quiet corner of the library, wrapping up final homework assignments. Once school was let out at lunch, he would promptly head back home to help his family prepare dinner. Sometimes this involved errands he'd run along the way back home; other times, once he stepped through the doorway, he would be asked to make Christmas cookies (he never told anyone, but he spent hours meticulously decorating them until his shirt and face were covered in flecks of dried icing and sprinkles.) Other years, all he would be asked to do would be to just hang up a decoration or two, then he could run to his room and watch all the anime he had been putting off until after finals week. He often wished he had a girlfriend to spend the holiday with; seeing so many happy couples from Shujin Academy giggling and laughing at nothing in particular made his heart ache and send jealousy running through his thoughts. 

 

So, when he boarded the subway that fateful day, earbuds in hand (he had learned from past years he could ignore most of the couples if he listened to audio dramas), he wasn't expecting anything different this year. It'd be another family celebration, like they always had been. Not that it was bad - Mishima always enjoyed his family, even if they didn't understand his hobbies that well - but it was the same as always; it was almost a dull complacency at this point. The same old Christmas celebration every year, down to the drizzle of rain instead of the dusting of snow.

 

He sighed, turning the volume up on his MP3 player, and stared out at the dark clouds looming over the city. He watched the scenery rush past him; the gray monoliths towering to the heavens, the crisscrossing electric wires, the crimson, sickening liquid seeping through the door-

 

_ Wait. _

 

Mishima gasped, stumbling almost drunkenly backwards. A huge spine composed of decaying yellow-white bone twisted and undulated through the city, sickening spiked ribs jutting every which way, piercing the buildings and ground and heavens. It smelled almost sterile, like anaesthetic, and made gut-wrenching cracking sounds. He heard a bone-chilling splash behind him; turning around took every bit of willpower in his body, and the hair on his neck stood on end, but seeing the way the sticky, sickly-red liquid clung to and stained his shoes caused a gasp to hitch in his throat. "O-oh God… what the hell…"

 

"Sir? Sir, are you ok?" A concerned middle aged woman tapped him on the shoulder. He bristled, and pulled out an earbud, his wide, frantic black eyes barely meeting her soft brown ones. "Do you need to sit down?"

 

"N-no! Look outside, look down, look-!" Mishima felt his words catch in his throat as the soft pitter patter of red rain turned into a torrent, seeping into the car faster. It was already up to his knees. It oozed through his school uniform, and Mishima felt  _ cold _ ; not the sort of cold typical of a December rain, but rather an unknown, primal fear, sending goosebumps up and down his legs. Outside, the crackling bone structures spread through the brutalist city, tearing apart neighborhoods he was familiar with, enjoyed,  _ loved _ , and this damn woman had the audacity to blankly stare at him.

 

"What are you talking about? Oh, is it the story you're listening to?" The woman smiled at him so kindly, lips soft and eyes warm as she clasped her hands together. Mishima put a hand over his mouth, nodded slowly, legs spasming erratically. The tainted train car rocked in a sudden gust of wind, forcing Mishima against the wall. He exhaled a shaky breath and tried looking outside, but all he could see was red streaks covering the window.

 

They had already gone past his stop. They had gone past 5 stops. Not once did the train show any sign of slowing down. Mishima felt his labored breathing against his hand, how it was so hot and almost wet, and tried to push the stickiness of this damnable liquid slowly rising up, now covering his legs entirely, out of his mind. The other patrons of the train car - appearing at this point like mocking shadows of their former selves - were looking at him. Some gazed with pity, others with confusion, a few with disgust, but all of their glances betrayed their true feeling.

 

_ Apathy. _

 

"W-why do none of you understand what's happening? Can none of you… see this?" Mishima grabbed onto the sticky railing next to him - the only movement he could force himself to make. "We are going to die here if we don't do something! Please, help me stop the train or open the door or something, anything,  _ please I don't want to die yet." _

 

One bored-looking businessman shrugged and went back to reading an article on his phone. "Eh, it's not that big of a deal. These trains are safe, you know. I don't see anything abnormal here, either."

A younger student next to him nodded her head in agreement, and added "Besides, it's going to end soon anyway. What's the big deal if it ends now?"

 

Mishima's breath violently shook. The red, sterile-smelling liquid was already up to the top of his chest, and try as he might he simply couldn't move. He clung tightly to the pole, hands white and sweaty, slipping down slowly. "No, please, please, this isn't right, none of this is right! Please, I can't be the only one…" he gasped erratically for air; the pool rose faster the more he talked, and even though everyone who was sitting down was well underneath the crimson ocean, he could feel their stares boring into him. Everyone staring at him, their eyes saying the same thing.

 

_ How dare you question reality? _

 

Mishima stood on his tip toes, breathing in a shaking mouthful of stale air. As the train took a sharp turn, the vermillion sloshed about, a wave pulling the boy under. It burned, sliding down his throat and entering his lungs, filling up every cavity in his body, clinging to him, forcing out the air, saliva, and water in his body. Try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from trying to breathe, or scream - it was just blood and stares and burning and his failures and

 

Mishima's heart pounded in his chest as he kicked off the heavy blankets and bolted upright, his gaze darting about everywhere and nowhere. His breathing labored and heavy, gasping for air as if he could never breathe it in fast enough, never fill his lungs deep enough with the cold, tasteless air of his bedroom, echoed off the walls. He put his hands to his chest, over his heart, and felt his heartbeat course through his hands. He sat for what felt like an eternity, back curved, panting and focusing on his heartbeat, focusing on the fact that, at least for now, he was _alive_. His heartbeat slowly steadied, the pounding forcing out all frantic, nightmarish thoughts drowning his mind, until he could form something coherent to say. 

 

"A dream…?" He shivered, and glanced at the clock on his desk. 3:47 AM, March 31st. _Christmas was a while off yet._ He laughed a quiet, unsteady laugh, uncertain and a bit terrified, and fell backwards in bed, hitting his head against his pillow. 

 

"It felt so real…" he murmured, staring up at the dark ceiling. He turned to the side, curling in on himself, and grabbed his phone from underneath his pillow. It was close enough to when he had to wake up for school that he might as well just stay awake and play some mobile games; maybe it would take his mind off of what happened. He knew all too well that any attempt to return to a deep sleep would only result in more nightmares, more fear, and he had enough to worry about. 

 

Volleyball practice was in just a few hours, after all. 


End file.
